


At the Light

by Macremae



Category: Wooden Overcoats
Genre: Angst, Backstory, Coming Out, Gen, Trans Male Character, Trans!Rudyard, deadnaming
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-07-08
Updated: 2017-07-08
Packaged: 2018-11-29 13:23:06
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,287
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11441790
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Macremae/pseuds/Macremae
Summary: "Like what, you could say 'So how does it feel to know that you and I are both-'"





	At the Light

**Author's Note:**

> Based heavily off of Telephone Wire from Fun Home

It was a February day.

There was a thick coating of clouds covering the sky, warning half-heartedly of rain. Waves lapped at the shore, lazily trying to show some semblance of power. An icy wind, albeit devoid of any ice to begin with, whistled sharply through the village of Piffling Vale, and clawed at the faces of anyone foolish enough to be outside.

Within the moderately cozy walls of her bedroom, Ismene Funn practiced what she was going to say.

The first step, she knew, was to be gentle about it. Her father was a man of tradition, and while he had made clear his wishes for a son, she suspected this was not what he had in mind. Ismene would have to ease into the subject, first explaining the fluidity of gender and its history, then her journey of discovery about her masculinity, and finally her request for a new name and pronouns.

The name had taken some time to decide upon, because once Ismene had made a decision, she didn't usually retract it. After scouting her local library for respectable male figures, she had finally decided on “Rudyard”, after her favorite poet.

So. Boy, “Rudyard”, and he/him/his. A square plan.

Then, there was the subject of Rudyard also being gay.

He had a sneaking suspicion that his father was as well, but wasn't sure how to broach the subject. Technically, it shouldn't have been that big of a deal to begin with, but Rudyard thought it prudent to let his father know not to expect an heir from his side of the family.

His thoughts were interrupted with a knock on the door, and his sister, Antigone, slipping in to fetch a book. She pulled a thick volume from their shared shelf, and tugged an unruly clump of hair behind an ear. 

“Father’s asking for you,” she said in a voice that clearly suspected Rudyard was in trouble. Rudyard took a deep, shaky breath and slid off the bed, bumping his sister’s shoulder with his own on the way out. 

Downstairs, his father was pulling on his coat. When he noticed Rudyard standing there, he raised an eyebrow expectantly.

“Well? Hurry up Ismene, we don't have all evening.”

“Right, sorry,” Rudyard said, trying not to flinch at the use of the name. He quickly grabbed his coat and mittens out of the closet and shoved them on, hopping into a pair of shoes he had tossed haphazardly by the door.

His father opened the door for the both of them, and followed Rudyard out into the chilly evening. Almost immediately, Rudyard’s eyes stung from the wind and cold. He jammed his hands into his pockets, sucking on his chapped bottom lip to keep it warm. 

They began to walk, passing the place where Funn Funerals brushed up against the post office next door. Through the warmly lit windows, Rudyard could see a girl just a few years younger than him sat at the kitchen table, methodically stamping a tall pile of letters. Past the post office was a slim alleyway, then a set of flats which always had loud noises coming from them. 

Rudyard and his father walked for several minutes, his mind choosing to take the silence as a good time to panic.

_Okay. Okay. You can do this. Just wait for him to break the silence, then tell him. Ease into it; don't go too fast or he’ll just shut you down. Or what if he's not supposed to talk first? What if you are? What if he's just waiting for you and you're blowing it because you're too busy worrying, and now it's just getting awkward? Quick, look at his face. Wait- no, don't! What if he thinks that's suspicious? What if he thinks you have something really bad to tell him, like you're pregnant or doing drugs? Are there any actual drug dealers in Piffling? How would they even get drugs? I mean, they showed us those pictures in class, and you sort of look like a heroine addict, but that's just because you're skinny and don't sleep much and-_

“So,” his father said casually, “where do you want to go?”

Rudyard’s head snapped up, and his eyes widened. “Oh. Um. I don't know.”

“Hmm.” His father thought for a moment, before saying, “Well… I know a bar. Sort of hidden away. Seedy club for folks such as… you know. Could be fun.”

The fact that his father not only knew of a place like that, but had been there, was astounding. So much, that Rudyard was almost reluctant when he replied, “But father, I'm not eighteen.”

His father sighed. “Right.”

They lapsed back into silence, Rudyard’s mind whirling.

_He wanted to get a drink. A drink! He thinks I'm mature enough to do that with him! Does he see me as an adult? Maybe he'll accept me more, and think I'm old enough to be making my own choices about gender and sexuality? Or maybe he'll think I'm old enough to have grown out of it, like it's a phase? Does he even know? I think he knows he is, but maybe not me. Oh, what are you doing, say something! You're making it worse; talk to him! God, anything! He looks worried. Why does he look worried? Does he actually know? Who cares: why aren't you talking? What if I say something dumb? Oh hey over yourself! It doesn't matter what you say you idiot, just make the fear in his eyes go away-_

“You know,” says Rudyard’s father, pulling him out of his thoughts yet again, “I graduated secondary school early. I was about your age when I started university.”

“Oh?” Rudyard says, his voice an octave higher than usual.

“Yes. My father wanted me to get a formal education before I took over the business.”

“That's… nice.” says Rudyard, not really knowing how to respond.

“It was,” his father says wistfully, his gaze now distant. “It was.” 

He pauses, and Rudyard thinks this conversation might be over, until he suddenly says, “There was a boy. In uni. My first year there. Thomas Joan. I wonder… where is he now?”

Rudyard's heart starts beating faster, and he gives his father his full, undivided attention. A tiny seed of hope twists in his chest, and he holds his breath.

His father sighs. “We were eighteen years old, in Swenson’s Barn. It was cold. Lots of boys messed around, you know… for them it was a game they outgrew. But I always knew…”

Suddenly, Rudyard can hold it in no longer, and he blurts out without thinking, “I-yes! Dad, me too! Since thirteen, I guess, I've preferred to wear boy’s shirts and pants. I-I never really liked wearing dresses like Antigone does, and I know she feels fine as a girl, but I just- don't! I'm not a girl! I'm a boy, and a “he”, and I've got a new name too: it's ‘Rudyard’! After the poet! And- and with what you were saying about you and Thomas; I know exactly how you feel! I really tried to deny my feelings for boys, but I was like you, Dad, me too.”

Rudyard stops, cheeks flushed and breathing heavily. He's a little embarrassed at the informal use of “Dad”, and he might get in trouble for that, but he doesn't care because he did it! He came out! His dad _understands_ how he feels about boys, and in at least one thing, he's not alone! 

“Thomas Joan…”

And then he sees his father’s face. 

It's distant. He's lost, caught in the memory. His eyes are unfocused, and not a single part of his brain is here, in the present, with Rudyard. 

His father didn't hear anything he said.

“Dad- Father?” Rudyard asks tentatively, hoping maybe he's made a mistake.

His father sighs again. “Thomas Joan…”

“Father.”

His father’s eyes widen, and he snaps back to reality. He shakes his head, chuckling a bit. “Ah… sorry Ismene, I was lost in memories for a moment. Yes, an excellent time, uni. Perhaps soon you’ll go there yourself. I'm sure there are several new techniques worth learning about, although I do wish Antigone could go with you…”

He drones on, but Rudyard is full on panicking now. His father didn't hear him. _His father didn't hear him._ He still doesn't know. What does this mean? Is his father trying to give him the chance to take it back? Is he homophobic, even though he himself is obviously gay as well? Does he just not care?

That is the most terrifying conclusion. Because if his father doesn't care, then everything was for nothing. Rudyard will have planned and panicked and gone on this walk, all to be subtly told that his father doesn't care if he really, truly has a son. He’ll always be Ismene to him.

Rudyard knows there won't be another chance after this. He can just _feel_ it somehow, like the universe is screaming at him to say something, say anything! His tongue is frozen, and now it's his father's words that are falling on deaf ears. This can't be it. This can't be their last-

“Well that was fun.”

They're at the front door. Without Rudyard noticing, they've looped back around to Funn Funerals, and his father is now standing in the entryway, staring at him with a forced smile.

“Are you coming in?”

\--

The next morning, Rudyard wakes up, and he _knows_. It's six o'clock in the morning, and the house is utterly silent. Rain pounds on the roof, promised by yesterday’s sky. He can hear the ocean from his bedroom, thrashing around like a caged animal in the raging storm. Beside his bed is a note.

“Out of groceries and the market is closed. Gone to catch breakfast. Be back soon. -Mother and Father”

No one goes out to sea in a storm like this and comes back.

Still, Rudyard can't believe it. He refuses to. He leaps out of bed, grabs his glasses, and shoves on his bathrobe, rushing out the door and down the stairs. He's about to throw open the front door when a figure comes bursting through.

It's Antigone, dripping wet and bedraggled. The wind has swept her hair in a hundred different directions, and her face is paler than usual from being outdoors. She takes one look at her sister’s face, and her chest stutters.

“They're gone, Ismene. They're gone.”

Something builds in Rudyard’s chest, cold and twisting. It lashes out at his ribs, clawing deep scratches into the bone, and puncturing his lungs until all the air has left his body. Without a word, he turns, marching upstairs with a wild purpose as his insides turn themselves out.

When he reaches the bathroom he shoves open the drawers, gracelessly fishing around in them until he finds what he needs. With one hand, he separates his long, curly black hair into two sections. Hands steadier than they should be, Rudyard raises the scissors and begins to savagely work at a chunk of hair. The scissors are sharp, but his hair is thick, and the process takes several seconds. Before the first waterfall of hair has even hit the ground, he's onto the next one, cutting with a force that is uncharacteristic of him.

Finally, the last section of hair falls to the ground, and Rudyard places the scissors on the bathroom counter. Closing his eyes for a moment, he takes a shaky breath and stares at himself in the mirror.

His hair has been completely cut off, snipped into a boyish cut on top of his head. 

Rudyard pulls open the medicine cabinet and grabs a roll of bandages from the shelf. He pulls off his shirt roughly, and behind to wind the bandages tightly around his chest. It doesn't take much, as large chests have never run in his family, and when he's done, he tucks the loose end into the wrap. Though it's a little harder to breathe, when Rudyard pulls his shirt back on, his chest is completely flat.

He stares at himself in the mirror for several long moments. There's a difference. Not a huge one, he still has a feminine-shaped face and hips, but there's change.

He almost looks like a boy.

Rudyard feels a different feeling rise in his chest, and he suddenly feels tears prick at his eyes. But no. He's not going to cry right now. It's a waste of time, and he's got very little of that at the moment.

Instead, he shoves the feeling down and begins to pick up the chunks of hair on the bathroom floor. Once they're all in the wastebin, he walks slowly into his room, where Antigone is lying on her bed, sobbing into her pillow. 

At the sound of Rudyard’s entrance, she raises her head and gasps.

“Ismene,” she says, shocked, “what did you do to your hair?”

Without speaking, Rudyard sits down on his bed, drawing his knees up to his chest. He breathes, practicing with the new restrictions on his chest. Antigone rushes over, the hands on her hips doing little to distract from her wet eyes. 

“Did you even think? What do you think Mother and Father would say if they were-”

“Alive?” Rudyard asks, pitching his voice a little lower to see how it sounds. Antigone purses her lips.

“You’re going to regret it, Ismene,” she says crossly, wiping at her eyes. They widen at Rudyard's next words.

“Rudyard.”

“What?” she says tersely.

Rudyard looks up, but he doesn't feel nervous this time. He just feels empty.

“My name is Rudyard, Antigone. I'm a boy. And I'm gay.”

Outside, the storm howls.


End file.
